A Carousel
by Little Obsessions
Summary: Over the years, they faced things that she never imagined and as they start a new life that she's alwasy wanted, It floods back. CJ. Lots of angst, lots of Drama, lots of Fluff.... Lovely!
1. Chapter 1

_I got this idea ages ago, when I was in London. There are song lines at the start of each chap. Credited to those who it belongs at the end. 'Carousel', the title, belongs to Rogers and Hammerstein and the studio that made it. None of these Characters belong to me, only Meg Cabot and Disney. **Artistic Licence with age.**_

No more memories,

No more silent tears . . .

No more gazing across

The wasted years ….

London was a city she was familiar with, by any stretch of the imagination. Clarisse had, for a short time before she had become queen, been educated at finishing school there. It was an unhealthily business in general, with it streets bursting with people and its poisonous air, it was a far cry from the peaceful prettiness of Pyrus. But it was good; it was what she liked, busy and uninterested in anyone but itself.

Of course, she was not, as she desired wandering about the streets of London, but cooped up in a stuffy conference room with only a pen and folder for company and a group of boring diplomats and leaders, who had more interesting things to do than this.

"Well of course", she entered into the conversation tactfully, "My country seems to be getting the less fair deal, kindly remember we are making far more lucrative prophets - as one of the richest countries- in the EU than some of those who feel the need to Lord over these proceedings".

"NO!" One protested, "No, that is not true!"

"Gentlemen", she drummed her fingers on the desk, impatient with his arrogance, "Perhaps, as it is evident that we are all tired and running out of fresh ideas, we should adjourn and pick this up in the morning".

She looked around the table and then, removed her glasses from the bridge of her nose. She sat back slightly, waiting for a response as she rounded on them.

"Perhaps", one of the diplomats agreed after a while, "Her Majesty is right, we all are tired and I believe it is becoming dark outside".

She had not noticed it was dark and as she turned to look out the window, she realised it was true. She angled her head slightly, so she could see both Westminster and The London Eye's glittering lights.

"Enough", she repeated, "For this evening".

A slight ruffle of nodded heads and murmured agreements signalled the end of the mind numbing conference for that night, which ran in circles every time it came around. She wanted out of there because she knew her husband of nearly four years now, was waiting in the hotel lobby for her. Four years, she smiled inwardly, four years since they were married. Even now, as she thought about it she was well aware of her cheeks burning and the childish flare of excitement that rose in her. Slowly, quietly, almost grudgingly the occupants of the table stood up, donned hats and coats, filed away papers and turned on cell-phones. With their security, or assistants they made their way out of the room on small groups until she was left alone, not having had the energy to move.

Quietly and quickly she threw her papers into her brief case and tidied up her hair and make-up. Suddenly, from behind her she heard her husbands' voice.

"Ready?"

She turned to him and smiled. She knew her smile wasn't entirely genuine simply because she was tired.

"You look tired, my dear" he added, "And I was hoping for a stroll along the Thames with you".

"Some night air might wake me, Joseph" she smiled, handing him her plush coat. He obliged, helping her to put it on.

"What did you do today?" she questioned, tucking her arm under his and swinging her handbag over her shoulder.

"I telephoned Amelia" he smiled, walking her along the corridor, "Then, went to the Art Gallery. It's huge, took me all day".

"You must have been terribly bored" she decided with an impish smiled.

"I actually quite enjoyed it" he laughed, holding the door open for her as they stepped out into the cold air, "It's interesting".

"And Mia, how is she?" she questioned, again tucking her arm under his. He smiled and with a leather gloved hand, he took her gloved hand in his and held it tightly.

"She's coping well, I think" he answered, leading her down a set of huge old steps which were hard to navigate because of the amount of people on them.

"I see", she raised her voice over the drone of people, "And the wedding plans, how are those coming along?"

"Well, too" he answered, leading her with a leisurely pace as they reached the bottom, "I think she enjoys planning a wedding she wants"

"Yes", she laughed, remembering with a strange bitter joy the time that Mia was to marry Andrew Jacoby and in the end, she herself, Clarisse had ended up married to the man she now stood beside.

"I am eternally grateful she did not marry then", she continued, stopping to lean over the barrier which separated the slowly moving river from those who walked along its banks, "I think she would be an entirely different, person - hell, I'd be an entirely different person!"

He laughed at her turn of phrase; she had a tendency for milder vulgarity having been married to a man who loved to swear for four years.

"True", he smiled, placing a soft hand on her back as they stood side by side. It seemed, after such a time she was now accustomed to his affection, even if it was slight. At first, when they had married she would flinch at contact, she had barely let him touch her. But now, it was entirely different and in some ways, it made their relationship easier.

She welcomed the hand on her back and moved closer, laying her head on his chest.

"Her Majesty is tired", he whispered, kissing her forehead.

"Well, that meeting would have put the most attentive person to sleep" she sighed, with a slight humour in her voice, "It shall kill me one day".

"You seem to be more and more tired these days Clarisse", he said with an amount of concern that touched her deeply.

"I know", she sighed again and yawned this time, burying her face in his chest. She looked up into his eyes, and then smiled again.

"You know, you're so very right" she shook her head, "I'm getting old, I have to slow down",

"You're not old, Clarisse" he laughed, "Only 58".

"That is old, is it not?" she argued.

"No my dear" he laughed, "You do not act old."

"I have no time to act old!" she exclaimed, "I am getting tired of palace life and work, too tired now".

"I see that" he said consolingly, lovely, "You are not so well these days".

They stood for some time, staring out onto the illuminated party boats that sailed down the river. His hand rubbed her back softly through her cashmere coat. She stood next tom him, cuddled in to him, stifling a yawn now and then.

"Joseph" she turned, almost warily to face him, "How would you feel if we moved house?"

He looked at her, puzzled that she had asked a question she knew the answer too. Then he realised she was simply trying to tell him she wanted out of the palace too. For the four years of their marriage, it was what he had been waiting for.

"I would love that, you know" he smiled, turning back to face the river.

"As would I", she answered quietly "I want to get up when I want, lie in bed all day if I feel like it, you know".

"Yes, I'd love that. You can cook, clean…"

She looked horrified -suddenly- and then, laughed.

"You hadn't thought of that, had you?" he laughed, taking her hand in his.

"No, I hadn't".

"Well", he answered, "I'll cook and clean".

"I'm doing this for you" she said suddenly, "I want you to have what you deserve and I want you for me, always. Jut for me, not so that someone can come into our suite. I want to live in the middle of nowhere and have you all for me".

"That sounds like heaven" he smiled, turning to face her, "But is it what you want?"

She glared slightly as he questioned her intentions.

"I am telling you it is what I want" she said curtly, "Am I not?"

He threw his hands up, "I was just checking".

"Well", she backed down, "Well, it's what I want!"

"Of course, it's a big thing, Clarisse. You have to be sure, that's all I'm saying".

"I have never been surer of anything, ok?" she had moved nearer him and laid herself against his chest. He smiled, and rested her head against him.

"Ok", he smiled, "I would love that, and I love you".

They started off again, this time his arm curled around her waist. They walked past the aquarium, where a group of young people sat along the steps, drinking and shouting merrily. She couldn't possibly imagine having ever done that and she wished inside that she had.

It was a cool, cold evening. Summery, but cool. The lights sparkled in the trees, the stars in the night sky and the lights on the approaching monstrosity that was the disaster of The London Eye.

"I hate that thing", she said absently, motioning with her head to the wheel.

"It's not so bad", he responded, "Not my cup of tea really, but it's a fun thing".

"I refuse, point-blank Joseph, to embark on that" she shuddered slightly, "It's so unsafe looking".

He laughed again and then, kissed her cheek. Not all of it was gone yet, but they knew what each other wanted and they were no longer desperate to lavish affection. They were settled and happy, and glad that years of torment and pain and desperation were behind them.

"I would not force you to go on, darling" he answered, walking her further down and past the wheel.

"You would never, ever get me on it!" she said stubbornly, "I am not one to be cajoled".

"That is arguable", he said slyly, knowingly.

"Ahh, Joseph!" her face reddened slightly, "You make me so self-conscious!"

"I do not mean to", he whispered gently, "Forgive me".

"Forgiven".

Again, they walked in silence, close, comfortable - faultlessly happy. Along the bank, just passed the huge wheel was a small carousel. Tinkling with old organ music and bright with lights, it was something of a childhood reminder. They stopped to admire it, to listen to the awkward, tinkling music, to listen to pleasurable noise of those who waited in the queue and those mounted on the ornamental horses. It glinted, a bright whirr of beauty as it began to go round to the tune of the struggling organ.

"Let's go on" she said suddenly, almost gleefully.

In her eyes he could see the glittering, fresh beautiful wonder of her innocence, an innocence that had never been banished by her hard life. He laughed, joyfully, happily.

"Yes", he smiled, taking her hand in his, "Lets".

He walked away from her, taking her brief case in his hands. She stood slightly behind him, still aware of the person she was and afraid that perhaps someone would recognise her. He stood at the booth, in a queue and fished in his pockets for some change. Then, he handed her a plastic token.

"Come on", he laughed, pulling her towards the queue with a tug, "I haven't been on one of these for years",

"Neither have I" she laughed over the noise of the organ, "I don't know if I'll be able to lift my legs up to get on one of those!"

They got on a horse each side by side, and she suddenly realised how ridiculous this must look, she was 58 and on a carousel. Truly, utterly ridiculous and yet as it began to spin and it didn't seem so ridiculous anymore. Maybe it was because she had grown up in the past four years alone, she had decided it was him that mattered- no one else.

_So, little opener to Chap. Story…_

_Hope you enjoyed,_

_Yours,_

_M _

_Xx_

Lyrics from "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again", from Phantom of the Opera by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Charles Harrt,


	2. Chapter 2

_But of all God's miracles large and small,_

_The most miraculous one of all  
Is the one I thought could never be:  
God has given you to me._

_**Four years previous…**_

Over the years he had become possessive, he had become someone who he had never wanted to be. But now as they sat, hands clasped the want for possession was truly fulfilled. He had never been married before, but she sat beside him, her smile beautiful, and her hand warm in his. He could not rid himself of the surreal feeling that stirred his insides. This was what he had waited for, forever.

He had been close to being married once, a long, long time ago. Her name was Marianna. He could still, if he tried hard remembering just how much he lusted after in high school. He had joined the army soon after they had begun dating and he sent her letter after letter, trinkets and gifts and cards. That seemed ludicrous now- the infatuation that he had with her- after he had realised what it felt like to be truly obsessed with someone.

"Joseph?"

Her voice was gorgeous. It had a rich, classical quality that was proof of her perfect breeding. He gripped her hand tighter with an affectionate softness.

"Yes, sorry dear I was somewhere else entirely", he answered, turning to her, smiling.

"That's quite ok", she laughed, though he could see just how tired she really was "This day has been somewhat bizarre, don't you agree?"

"I do my dear", he answered, lifting his champagne to his mouth "I think, after this drink, we should retire."

"Yes", she nodded, lifting her hand to stifle a yawn.

He nodded with a smile and realised his entire life had been bizarre. In all its charm, it had been wasted on years of bitter hate.

Marianna had known from the first moment he had returned. She had known from his distance that his heart had fled from her. She had asked in her pleasant, fruity accent about his job in Genovia, about setting a date for their wedding, about picking somewhere to settle down. He didn't know how to answer, because he was different man. He could not ask her to move to Genovia and he could not marry her. How could he tell her that his love had been childish, that he didn't love her, that she was not his queen, she was not Clarisse.

He looked at his wife, his wife of only a few hours and realised that she did not know this. She did not know that he had loved her 20 years ago, and then again neither had he.

Marianna had taken it with surprising grace, the fact that his letters were no longer so frequent, that his interest in her had waned to the point that he stopped phoning and she stopped soon enough. He had not meant to hurt her but he had stopped caring; for her Majesty was all that mattered.

He was happy just to have his hand in hers as they watched their guests dance. They had danced enough for one evening and were glad to rest, side by side.

Soon though, the ball room grew too warm for her and she cajoled him to take a walk out in the gardens. For the middle of summer it was surprisingly cold and she stole his jacket from him, citing the need to be in a fit state to look after her new husband as the reason for the crime. They wandered in and out of her roses and water fountains and oddly named shrubs that she had brought in from exotic places. Side by side, he curled his arm around her shoulders.

He could see her growing tired, her eyes drooping and her posture bending minutely.

"Would it because you trouble if I took you to bed", he could resist suggesting something that would make her blush with an endearing quality.

He received the desired affect and she turned red, her cheeks pink and girlish.

"Joseph!" she hissed, a small smile on her lips, "You mustn't say things like that".

"Why not?" he touched her shoulder, fleetingly, "I am your husband!"

"Ahh! How wonderful! Can you believe it?" she almost giggled, quietly, hurriedly so no one would invade her moment of merriment.

"I can't" he whispered, squeezing her hand again, "I finally got exactly what I wanted".

"I couldn't possibly ever have been all you wanted" she said solemnly, fingering a rose as she detached herself from him and walked ahead.

"You're more than what I've ever wanted", he said quietly and she sensed a hint of self-consciousness in his tone. She turned swiftly.

"I'm sorry for doubting what you've told me so many times", she said apologetically, walking to meet him. He smiled consolingly and drew nearer her.

"Can I kiss you?" he questioned, placing a tender hand on her hip, almost afraid that if he was too comfortable with touching her she would not allow it.

"Don't ask me that," her voice was pained, distant as she hung her head, "Please don't be afraid of me".

He touched her cheek softly, running his hand down to her chin and lifted her chin to look at her eyes.

"I want to kiss you properly", he continued.

"I know" she answered, pushing herself against him, "But it's been so long".

"I know" he smiled gently, "But this is me, not Rupert". He realised quickly that had been a stupid thing to say.

"I am aware of that", she said curtly but still remained pressed to him, "And I'm sure you know I am".

"Yes", he shook his head, "Sorry."

"It's ok", she shook her head and exhaled an exasperated breath, "I feel so awkward!"

"Please don't" he touched her cheek, "I don't want you to feel like that."

"I know! I'm just, I'm just-" she stuttered and then threw her hands up in frustration, "I don't know how I feel. At the moment I'm so happy but…"

"Are you scared?"

"More than I've ever been", she smiled sadly and sat down on the stone bench, "My entire life."

"My darling," he touched her cheek gently, "I wish I could make you feel better."

"You do!" she smiled, "Just being near you, I love you. I'm not making much sense, am I?"

He shook his head and they laughed slightly as he joined her on the bench, "You'd think after nearly 20 years of being with each other every single day we'd have no problem discussing feelings".

"That is the problem," she sighed, "I'm terribly closed up. It's awful, really it is. Feeling something like this and not being able to convert it into words".

"I know you must be scared but we'll do this together and stand against the problems all marriages face. Clarisse, I'm not going to lie to you, because you're far from stupid. We'll hit hard times and you are just as stubborn as I am but when it comes down to it, I love you and that's far more powerful than disagreement."

"I've waited so long to be married to you", the words, with no hint of decorum or restrain poured from her lips, "That I'm scared I'll push you away".

"Never!" He smiled and wrapped a soft arm around her shoulder.

"I wanted to not tell you this", she fiddled absently with the lapel of his dinner jacket, "But you're my husband and I should, so I did. It felt alien to me, having to remind myself you were my husband not my only secret".

"I like that expression, 'my only secret' " he pulled her slightly closer and encouraged her to rest her head on his shoulder.

"A sordid one" she smiled and suddenly the confident, self-assured Clarisse had re-surfaced, "One that was not allowed".

"It is now and is for the taking, so my darling, do not be afraid".

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

They had moved at alarming speed but only with her consent. Her body was spooned against his, her exhaustion evident in her glittering eyes. The silk clung to his skin, the silk of her bed-linen. She wasn't speaking, her eyes were so far away and he was content to allow her mind to wander. He didn't have the energy to speak, so he curled his body into hers.

"We didn't even say goodnight", she whispered gently.

"I don't think they will mind" he answered closing his eyes, "Mia was being the ultimate hostess".

"How true" she laughed, "I couldn't care less".

"Liar", he smiled, kissing her nose, "But thanks for trying".

"No!" she giggled sheepishly, "I mean it, after_ that_, I really don't care!"

"Ahh", he licked his dry lips, eyes still closed "It was good, wasn't it."

"Hmm" she whispered, her own eyes closing now "It was fantastic".

"Thank you", he smiled, kissing her once again.

_Please review. Oh, and thanks so much for all the other reviews._

_Yours,_

_M_

_Xx_

Lyrics from 'Miracle of Miracles' from Fiddler on the Roof.


	3. Chapter 3

If I found you there  
With flowers in your hair  
I' d hold you in my arms  
Until we came back down  
A smile that explodes  
I could never understand

He landed on her chest, breathless and she tried to muster words, a faint complaint perhaps, but she couldn't because she was far too languid and boneless. She lay and lay, his head cradled in her hands as his breathing calmed.

"My, my" she managed, "What a way to be woken

"You look delicious when you sleep", he licked her collar bone to emphasize his point, "I couldn't resist".

"Bad boy", she almost purred, though could not bring her self to be so outrageously naughty.

"Hmm", he lifted his head and smiled at her.

"You do know", she muttered absently as she ran a hand down his face "That we're supposed to catch a flight in five hours".

"Uhuh" he rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, "Ruin the moment, my dear".

"Oh dear, someone's grumpy", she teased, sliding down so their eyes were level, "have I upset you?"

"I want to lie in bed all day, eating rich, fattening foods and making love to you" he fantasized, "But my wife will not allow it".

"It's" been months since we've done that", she mused, curling her arm around his body.

"Tease," he whispered, continuing to kiss her anyway, "Gorgeous, adorable, beautiful tease".

"Charming", she smiled, cuddling herself into his warm chest.

"Thank you, my love".

"I love it when you call me that", she said quietly, idly.

"You are my love, my only love", he smiled, kissing her unruly hair.

"And you mine", she concluded, detatching herself from him and reaching for the silky robe slung over the bottom of the bed. She stood, tied the belt round her waist and reaching over the bed, kissed him softly.

"Thank you for waking me up so wonderfully", she whispered.

"Any time".

He obliged to pack her case, given that she took forever getting ready.

They checked out quickly, becuase her tendancy to take so long to shower meant they'd have to run to the airport in order to catch the flight.

"We are very late", he commented as they sat in the back of the car.

"Well, that is a plus to having one's own private jet", she laid her hand over his, "We can make them wait".

He decided not to argue the issues of air-space and Air traffic control with her; it was fruitless to do so. Though he knew, fine well from years of being her Head of Security that she could, if she had so needed, demand as many scheduled spaces to fly if she want

"You're quiet", she commented, stretching her legs out in front of her. He loved her legs and he'd never actually told her how good they looked in a pair of stockings, maybe he had when they had been drunk. She got drunk with him a lot now, on holiday or in their rooms. He loved her drunk; he loved when he was drunk with her. Suddenly, he wanted to be drunk and make love to her all night.

"Have I ever told you you've got gorgeous legs?"

She looked at him and then laughed.

"Yes, I think so...I don't know" she ran her hand down her calf, "Have I?"

"Lovely", he smiled, mimicking her motion with his own hand.

"Well, thank you", she laughed, "I think it was when you were drunk…"

"Was it crude or charmingly vulgar when I said it?"

"No doubt it was the latter" she laid her head on his shoulder, "But I bet I liked it".

"Ha!"

"Joseph, you know what I said last night, I meant it…"

"About us moving into our own home?" he questioned, moving so he could see her face.

"Yes. I want to, I'm fed up really, of not having our own space...you know", she ran a hand up his leg, "To get drunk".

"Ah, I see", he mocked a serious tone, "You want me to be your drunken love slave…"

"Got it in one", she smiled, kissing the side of his head, "I want to leave Mia her own space, have mine, relax a little more".

"Sounds good, sounds intelligent too".

"Well, we've been discussing it".

"OH no!" he tried to sound increduolous, "I've been suggesting it, you've been skirting around it!"

"No, doesn't it prove I've been listening, rather than commenting?"

"You win", he sighed.

"Looks like we've arrived", he said as the car slowed to a hault on the tarmac. Genovia 2 sat, gleaming in the afternoon sun light.

She didn't like planes, she hated planes. She hated the though of being so high up in what was simply a bit of metal. Her husband often corrected her, stating it was not just a bit of flying tin.

He could see displayed on her face, the nervousness that always accompanied her on flights. A simple, discreet hand on hers eased her tension considerably and so he genlty rubbed her cold hand.

"I don't like this", she whimpered.

"I know, darling" he tightened his grip just slightly and to take her mind of the flight, "So what kind of house would you like?"

"In the country", she answered, suddnely more animated, "But near the palace, in case Mia needs help".

"Of course", he agreed, well aware that Mia was practically still a child at the job and still relied on his wife heavily, Clarisse had no fear of ever stepping on Mia's toes.

"And a swimming pool", she continued, closing her eyes as the plane took off "And somehwere for you to work out and for the horses".

"Indeed", he smiled, motioning for her to rest her head on his shoulder, "I will need a gym".

"I don't want you to lose that fantastic body".

"I won't - if I have a gym", he smiled, noting that the plain had already began to gather speed on the tarmac and that she didn't seem remotely bothered.

_Ok, I have the biggest apologies to make for not posting this. I've just been so busy! School is becoming increasingly hard._

_Yours,_

_M_

_Xx_

_Hope you enjoyed._

_Lyrics from 'A smile That Explodes' by Joseph Arthur._


	4. Chapter 4

_None of this belongs to me, Disney and Meg Cabot own these._

_A heart full of love  
A night full of you  
The words are old  
But always true.  
Oh, God, for shame  
You did not even know my name_

She wanted nothing more than to die. The shame it would bring on the family would scar forever. It was not as if these types of dalliances were unusual with the men of the Renaldi family, in fact they were quite common but she had always, always managed to keep it under wraps like the Queens before her.

It was always Philippe, always her youngest who caused such controversy and left her to pick up the pieces. The urge to throttle him was threateningly strong. She did not know quite what to do with this.

"You paid her?" It was a question she hardly wanted to ask but his story was weak and incredulous.

"Of course!" he did not sound remotely moved by the fact this was a crisis. She raised herself up from the desk, restraining the urge to scream at him and moved towards the window.

"How many times?" she questioned, turning to face him, "Must I ask you not to do this to me, to us?"

"Mother, she was just a whore" he sighed, "I didn't think she'd threaten to go to the papers". He did not care! When had he turned into this, when had she failed him? She moved across to him, anger boiling inside her.

She couldn't control herself and she hadn't realised what she had done until she had slapped him hard across the face. He stood up, cradling his face and turned to leave in a fit of anger.

"Don't dare", she seethed, pushing him so he sat back down on her office chair, "Don't you dare, do you hear me! Don't you speak to me like that and do not under estimate the situation! I can't believe this Philippe, what have you turned into. This girl is threatening to go to the papers and mark my words, son if she does, your father will see you on your road."

"I would be glad to be out of here" he said scathingly, "I couldn't care less if I upset him either."

"I'd hate to think you would care, Philippe. That would be too much effort for you."

"For the love of God, mother!" He threw his hands up in the air, "It's always about who cares and who doesn't! I don't care and you know for a fact that he wont either, he's a pig and neither will the press because how many of the people that I have slept with have threatened to go to the papers? And NEVER have!"

"I NEVER brought you up like this!" she answered quietly, a feeling of utter despair washing over her.

"Mama, you didn't bring me up, that's what my Nanny was for".

She wanted to say something but she couldn't so she closed her mouth and clenched her fists.

She watched his back disappear out of the door but she didn't chase him because she knew fine well that it just aggravated him. She was hurt by his terse comment, nasty and cold. He didn't take those mannerisms from the stones. He had inherited them - however unlucky he was - from her. She shook her head in disbelief and anger and sat down at her desk. She was in no fit state of mind to deal with any paper-work at the moment, that would only aggravate her further. She couldn't tell Rupert or ask for his help because she knew how he felt about Philippe's behaviour. She was well aware her younger son was spoilt and really only cared for himself and when he was feeling generous, herself. She was well aware she had not been able to spend time with either of her sons but that was how it had always been for generations.

She massaged her temples, a headache quickly approaching. She really wanted to cry, just from pure stress and hurt. Sighing again, she laid her head down on the desk and curled her hands up. God! She wanted to slap him again but she could hardly believe she had in the first place.

She was well aware that Philippe would threaten the prostitute into silence or pay her a nice figure to keep her mouth shut. However the fact that this time the girl had had the audacity to get in contact with herself, well that was just ludicrous. She had woken this morning to a letter with crude sentiments and vile threats. Charming way to wake -up really, after she had witnessed her 18 year-old Philippe miraculously drunk and abusive the evening before.

To say she loved him would be an under-statement. She adored him, simply because her two sons were the only things in the world worth loving. She had spoiled both of them but Pierre, well, he had grown up now. He was in Rome studying, having abdicated only fourth months ago. Now that was another bone of contention that had put unspeakable burdens on his parents' shoulders. Rupert had thrown a fit and was still refusing to speak to Pierre, she was totally in between, given the fact she wanted him to do what he desired, not what was desired of him. Rupert was stressed, to the extreme and had little time for anything these days. Philippe was constantly partying or sleeping or playing polo. She waited in anticipation for the coming months when he was travelling to America with none of his so-called friends, only his body guard. Rupert was determined to get him into the Military, something that would discipline him for the years of rigmarole and protocol to come. But Philippe was not someone who could be forced into something that he didn't want. She sighed again and stood up, she wanted to walk.

It was November, frosty cold and snowy in the gardens. The ground beneath her feet was iron-hard. These gardens, she adored. They were the only part of the palace that she really liked.

"You know" a voice behind her, " It's freezing out here".

She laughed slightly and then turned.

"Joseph" she smiled, "What brings you out here."

"Ahh" he smiled and walked towards her, " I'm bored. You see His Majesty is in his office, signing his papers and I have nothing to do."

"I see" she cocked an eye brow, " But of course, admitting that to me is not such a good idea and I know that you're lying."

He smiled guiltily and then hung his head.

"I know you heard our argument" she sighed, "We were shouting an awful lot".

"Yes" he smiled, " I wasn't snooping, I was sent by His Majesty".

"Rupert heard?!"

"No," he soothed, " No he simply heard muffled shouting, no details."

"But you did?"

"I did."

"Oh well, that's not much better."

"I suppose not," he smiled, " However, it's strictly confidential. I wouldn't -"

"Oh, I know that!" she interrupted, throwing her hands up.

"Thank you", he smiled.

"Now, are you going to join me in a walk, Joseph or are you going to return to doing nothing?"

"A walk, I think" he smiled again.

"Good, I need some company just now".

He was used to this, being her 'company', if that was all he could be. He had long given up hope of ever being anything more to her. She was married, not to a man she loved but a man who was her best friend - he couldn't take that away from her.

"Everything with Philippe will be ok, you know" he assured out of silence.

"I hope so" she smiled nervously, " I can't wait till he goes to America, gets so new friends, perhaps goes to university."

"I have no doubt he will. Perhaps he's just being awkward at the moment Clarisse, you know with Pierre's abdication. It is not an easy transaction, going from second son to prince royal".

"Of course not, but I am not forcing -" she stopped as he looked at her incredulously.

"It's Rupert, not me and I will defend my husband in everything he does".

A stab of jealousy, childish and primal struck his heart. He hoped she couldn't see it in his eyes, or see his body tighten slightly. Defending Rupert to the end, how predictable, how honourable, how like her. He was tempted to question if she felt like that when she found out he'd slept with another woman again, he held his tongue.

"I'm sorry, that was out of place Your Majesty".

_Please R&R._

_Yours,_

_M_

_Xx _

_Lyrics from 'A Heart Full of Love', Les Miserables. Claude Michel Schonberg and Alain Boublil_


	5. Chapter 5

_I'll forget you  
The more you stay inside of me, the weaker I grow  
I'll forget you  
Tomorrow I will turn and let you go  
I'll grow colder  
I'll lose myself in anything but you now_

_For there is nothing I can do now...but forget _

She stared blankly at the letter, the neat script, the formal wording of his resignation - clasped in her hand. She gripped the paper, crumbling it slowly into a ball, making it small and smaller with each pang of rage she felt. She threw it down on her desk, and stared still blankly into the mahogany wood of the surface. She threw herself back, her eyes closed, her body weak. She could not muster any resolve in that moment and felt the piercing heat of tears at the back of her eyes, the burning of pain in her throat. She felt her blood grow cold, then curdle in enraged heat intermittently. Reason could not penetrate her thoughts of anger, of hatred, of love for him. She hated him, she hated him, she hated him…for something she had done.

What did this mean for her - it meant the fear of years came cascading back in that single moment, a single moment where her life crumbled around her. The cold crept into her skin, penetrating her body and she could feel nothing.

As well as her being stressed as it was, with the wedding and Mia's antics with Deverux, she was now facing this. But she could not face this anymore.

Lifting herself up, she looked around the office and made her way out.

This was not her, she could not be weak like this. She shook, and her legs were weak under the strain as she walked around the gardens. The sun burned, but she felt colder than ever. She would forget him because if she did not, she would die. She would die of this paint that was heaving in her chest. She would wither away until her every thought was possessed by him. She would banish the years of history and pain between them because it was necessary. Footsteps behind her, his. She wiped her eyes quickly, for fear he see evidence of her tears.

"Your Majesty", he said curtly, passing by her shoulder and with his clipped words, putting a huge gap between them. He did not look at her, he did not hold her.

She could not control herself and she wanted him to understand what this was doing to her, how this would slowly, painfully kill her.

"I'll die," she didn't mean to say that, she had meant to say something intelligible, something that made him hurt as much as she was. He stopped at her words.

"You will not suffer more than I will." he did not turn to face her and she stared at the blackness of his shirt.

"I got your resignation," she whispered, " Why?"

"Isn't that obvious?"

"Of course", she cried out quietly, her voice strained, "But why like that, Joseph? Why are you doing this to me?"

" You make it sound as if I am doing it maliciously."

"aren't you?"

"No, Clarisse I'm doing it because I cannot bear to look at you", he turned quickly and the rage on his face scared her, " I'm doing it because looking at you kills me! I love you, Clarisse, I love you."

"I do not need you, I'll forget you!" the words were untrue but she could not think of anything else that might hurt him more. She wanted to hurt him, to see his eyes grow dull and lifeless. To mirror just how she felt.

" I know you wish that, but you're only lying to yourself" he smiled cruelly, gripping her shoulder so hard that she winced under the pain "And that's why I'm going because I'll never have you, unless you truly want it, will I?"

"Let go of me!" she hissed, crumbling under the pain.

"No, not until you understand that I will crumble long before you ever will!"

Humiliated, the tears cascaded down her face, she was so frightened that anyone in the Gardens would see him, gripping her forcefully, her in tears or hear him growling at her.

"Don't cry", suddenly his tone had changed and his voice was soft, " I cannot bear to see you in tears, not like this, not because of me."

"I love you".

"I'm asking for one thing, Clarisse but you cannot and that…that is fine but do not ask me to watch you everyday, to stand by while I need you more than anything in the world. I cannot do that."

"I always ask too much" she said, in a voice that was not her own.

"No, I as too much of you anyway. Because I knew twenty years ago, when I first fell in love with you that you were never going to be mine".

"If things were different", she whispered, her eyes pleading, her body limp in his arms as he pulled her hearer, forcing her to his chest.

"But they are not."

"I don't want you to leave me".

"I have no choice" he sighed desperately, "I have to leave with a piece of my soul intact, Clarisse."

"Let me come with you" she said feebly, " Take me away with you, from all of this."

"You know that's not possible" he said, " You gave up that option years ago Clarisse."

"No! Please" she sobbed, tears overwhelming her, " Please!"

"I'm sorry, so sorry…"

_Well, I know I haven't updated this story since November but I had pre-lims, so I return humbly with simple offerings._

_Please R&R._

_Yours,_

_M._

_Oh, Lyrics from "I'll forget you" from the Scarlet Pimpernel musical._


	6. Chapter 6

_Well I let it happen anyhow  
And what I'm feeling now  
Has no easy explanation  
Reason plays no part  
Heaven help my heart  
I love him too much  
What if he saw my whole existence  
Turning around a word, a smile, a touch?_

Fleetingly, he smiled at her from across the ballroom and she returned it, then went back to discussing her recent visit to London with Sebastian. Since their return a week ago she had been exceptionally busy and everything seemed to be flying past her and she couldn't catch it up - and that was terribly familiar.

"Grandma!" Mia came hurtling towards her, still with a distinct lack of grace from the other end of the ballroom.

"Yes, darling?" she queried, sighing for a moment and slumping though not entirely perceptibly.

"Grandma, I forgot to ask you if you would help me with my dress tomorrow? I'm looking at different designs and I thought you might like to help"

"Of course", Clarisse smiled exhaustedly at the prospect, "of course."

Mia had bounded off even quicker than she had approached, to an anticipating Nicholas, who was conversing with one of the younger guests quite animatedly. Sebastian took his leave of her and she stood, just for a moment, of solitude in a whirlwind of action and she breathed in some energy and stilled herself for more senseless conversation and people. She smiled brightly and then took a sip of champagne.

"Her Majesty is exhausted" a familiarly husky voice, "And it is my duty to see her to her - our - bed".

"Oh, you are ever hopeful" she laughed, turning to him, "But I am being a hostess."

"That is Mia's job" he retorted, coming to stand beside her, " You were distant at dinner, is there something wrong?"

"No" she answered quickly, " I am just feeling…overwhelmed for some odd reason. I very rarely get like that but I am just now".

"I see" he smiled gently, "Can I do anything?"

"No." She returned the smile, with more than a hint of adoration and returned to watching the guests dancing. She loved how kind he was, how concerned, how much he cared for her. It was moments like this, when he said things like that, that she loved him for.

"I think you are right" she sighed, "I wan to go to sleep, why shouldn't I?"

"Because first, I want to make love to you…". His voice had changed from soft and gentle to a possessive growl, which was only intensified by a hand pressing hard on the bottom of her spine.

"I don't blame you" she didn't even turn to him but licked her lips for effect, "But I'm not giving you everything you want, on a plate. You must earn it first."

"Ha!" he laughed breathily, " A dance, my dear?"

"I'd love to" she answered, turning from haughty to gentle in a moment with an endearing smile.

"I love you, you know" he whispered in her ear as they artfully danced their way around the other guests. She was well aware people where watching and talking about them. After all, their marriage still attracted unwanted attention, even after four years. It wasn't a normal social marriage, not by any standards of the elite of Genovia and in fact, it was still frowned upon - just not in public.

"They still talk, you know" she said defiantly, raising her chin and meeting his eyes.

"Let them," he growled, "They are jealous - they thought I was just your bit of rough."

"What a crude thing to say! What has come over you tonight?"

"Just a desire to escape from all these despicable creatures" he motioned his head around the ballroom, while never faltering in their step, "And spend some quality time with my wife."

"I'm asking for one night were I play hostess and you play second fiddle" she sighed, annoyance in her cold tone " I need to help Mia."

"Mia is fine" he said cuttingly, " I can't be bothered with this, Clarisse."

"Well, you really don't always get what you want" she answered scathingly, through gritted teeth.

He was acting out of character and she didn't know why. Sometimes he got like this, childish. It happened mostly when she was busy and since they had returned, she had only seen him at night in their suite. She knew it irritated him, the times where they spent no time with each other, but she justified herself defiantly and reminded herself that he had known what he was getting into.

"Come on, I haven't had dinner with you in the past week. I haven't even really spoken to you. I hate it when you're so busy and you don't even realise."

"I realise fine well" she answered hotly as she detached herself from him and turned away from the centre of the dance floor. He followed, "But you'll just have to tolerate it, because I can't leave her on her own".

He followed her out of the doors and into the lobby of the west wing of the palace, "Oh very fine! Ok Clarisse, lets see how much you could tolerate not seeing me. Shall we?"

"Is that a threat?" she laughed cruelly as she turned to face him, " Nice. Really gentlemanly!"

He was suddenly reminded of why he was attracted to her, that fiery, cruel temperament that he loved to see. It was certainly somewhat perverse. He had been attracted to her at first because she was unattainable, ethereal - a challenge of epic proportions. A challenge that was the hardest of his life, because he mistakenly fell in love with her.

"Sorry" he said quietly, "I get bored when you are not around."

"Was that really necessary though?" she said curtly, crossing her arms across her chest, "People talk, you gave them more ammunition with your storming out of ballroom behind me."

"Come on! You stormed out and I followed and anyway, it doesn't bother me that they talk. They always did anyhow, there was always suspicion…our marriage just confirmed it!"

"Do you really think they did?" she asked, worried, " I mean it was one night".

"Not really" he smiled at the memory, "Not if you consider all the glances, or the touches or the general flirtatious behaviour of Her majesty."

"You're lying!" She blushed considerably, "Joseph say "sorry" to me…"

"For what?" he question indignantly.

"Because" she stamped her foot and threw her hands up in the air, " Because you were horrible to me!"

"Was I now?" he smirked and grabbed her delicately, quickly into his arms. She stiffened, just from the initial contact but then went limp and returned the embrace.

"I'm sorry" he said softly, " I upset you just to upset you, I just get jealous all the time…"

"It's endearing" she laughed, "I hate when you do that in public though, they all talk. I thought, before I married you that you were good at keeping your temper - I was much mistaken…"

"Indeed!" he smiled, and held her at arms length, " How could I ever lose my temper at such an easy-going creature as yourself."

"I'll ignore that sarcasm" she smiled warningly, "Because I can't possibly be that bad, you are exaggerating."

"I am-" he gave up, "I love you, no matter how much we argue over trivial things like this…"

"I know" she shook her head, " But I have to go back, they will talk."

"I know" he sighed and offered her his arm, " Maybe one day, they'll forgive you for your mistake."

_Ohhhh, Chapter 6. I'm on a roll, after not writing for ages._

_Please R&R_

_Yours,_

_M_

_Xx_

_Lyrics from "Chess" - "Heaven Help My Heart"_


	7. Chapter 7

_Bittersweet  
I won't give up  
I'm possessed by her  
I'm bearing her cross  
She's turned into my curse_

"It's not all easy as that, Rupert" she sighed, looking indignantly at him across the desk, "I can't imagine you realise just how sensitive the situation is, it is not so easy -", a knock on the door interrupted her and immediately, quite automatically she straightened her posture.

"Your Majesties" the Butler bustled in, a deep and exaggerated bow followed and then he continued, "The New Head Of Security."

A moment later, he had stepped into the office. Though his nervousness was not evident he couldn't have been more anxious to get this over with. He didn't want to be noticed, he just wanted to do his job and settle down, finally.

"Good afternoon, Joseph!" the King greeted him warmly, " How have you been since we last me?"

"Well, Your Majesty."

"Good, indeed."

Clarisse sat there, not moving as she often did and wondered idly if he had noticed her. Maybe he hadn't. she wasn't particularly sure if she cared anyway. However, there was something about him, something that made her want to loathe him and yet, he was quite enticing. She had never seen something so untamed looking in her life, strong and brutal and dark and yet soft and gentle all in one man. She shook her head slightly, to dispel that notion of lust that made him palpably attractive and good-looking.

"And this is my wife, Queen Clarisse" Rupert introduced her and she nodded at the man, coldly, delicately and offered her hand, without standing. He took it in his, kissed it as was custom and let it fall back into her lap.

"I imagine you will be looking after my wife for all of this week, Joseph" Rupert smiled at her, "I am going to France, as you know and I shall only have a few of your men. You must settle in here, no protest, first before you stretch your legs over the continent."

"As you wish, Your Majesty" . He had a distinct growl to his voice and it made her cringe. How she loathed an unrefined accent. She couldn't bare, she decided, to be tagged by this man because there was something unacceptable about him, something to be wary of. Or maybe she was trying to restrain herself because she felt an unhinging attraction to him, from the moment he had set his eyes on her.

"I don't think so" she said coolly, standing up, " I would much rather know you were safe in France."

"I'll be fine!" he answered good - heartedly as he patted Joseph on the back.

Joseph observed her for a moment and decided in an instant that her prickly demeanour was nothing more than a ridiculously bad excuse for a creature that didn't want to be vulnerable. He smiled gently at her and she returned it, though it didn't reach her eyes. Her eyes, her eyes were beautiful, however cold they looked. She was fine looking, gorgeous in fact. He wasn't usually attracted to blondes but there was something about her that was different. Something cold and ethereal and challenging that seemed to cry out to him from her eyes, as if she was screaming. He snapped out of his thoughts at the Kings words.

"So, I shall have Henry" the King indicated to the Butler, "Show you to your new rooms."

"Thank you", he bowed his head.

As he left he glanced at her again and this time she met his eyes. Something, a glimmer of desperation shone in them. He couldn't help but wonder as he left, what it felt like to be her. She didn't like him, he felt that in an instant but he got the feeling that she presented herself like that to everyone. It didn't matter anyway. He was here to settle, to work and to try and live a normal life.

That night he walked through the corridors, taking in as much as possible because he had decided that as sleep felt like avoiding him that evening, he should do something useful with his time. The palace was in darkness, spare the odd night light here and there. However, he noted as he neared the kitchen an ounce of life in the place. The queen was seated at the table in the centre of the vast kitchen, lit only by the candle in front of her with a glass of water and a bowl of fruit. He didn't want to talk to her particularly, because her eyes made him feel uncomfortable but she had noticed him come in anyway, and he couldn't ignore her.

"Your Majesty".

"I'll be out of your way in a moment" she said hastily, " I only came here because -"

"You needn't explain yourself to me" he said kindly, " I was just trying to acquaint myself with the palace"

"This Palace is so vast…" she looked up at him, " I bet you think I'm insane, sitting here in my night clothes. But it's the only time when no-one bother me, I'm sure you understand."

He hadn't expected this from her, this woman who seemed to be a closed book. Suddenly, she was talking to him and it wasn't cold, or hard - in fact, it was quite open. She had took him by surprise. Again, her eyes seemed to talk to him but against her will.

"I thought this was the staff kitchen" he answered, searching for something to say.

"It is, you were right" she took a sip of the water, " I prefer it here, it's cooler and larger."

"I see". There was a pause and then, to his surprise she spoke again.

"I feel compelled to tell you things, to justify myself" she said quite urgently, " Why is that?"

"I- I have no idea" he answered, looking at his feet.

"I had decided today that I wasn't going to like you" she said, quite softly, "And yet I think I may have been wrong. Why are you here, can't you sleep?"

"No, I cannot" he shook his head and shuffled from foot to foot. She stared at him and he could feel her eyes on him. Something was happening. Something that in years to come, with an incredible amount of hindsight he realised, was a forging of a relationship that ended in marriage many years later and deep and intense love.

"Do you want some fruit?" she offered the bowl, "The staff leave it for me, they know I don't eat my dinner."

"Why don't you?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could prevent it. He felt that was a huge invasion of privacy for this woman, whom he didn't know and was somewhat wary of. Yet, he found himself inexplicably attracted to her.

"I don't want to, sometimes or I'm too busy to" she answered, taking a strawberry, " I don't like eating in front of people."

"I should go.." he made to turn for the door.

"No, I don't mean for you to go". Her voice had changed suddenly, from soft and cold to a gentle pleading.

"You don't mind?"

"No" she shook her head, " Just not in front of lots of people. My Mother always taught me not to eat too much, I just decided it's best not to eat at all,"

"I don't really understand that", he admitted.

"Neither do I" she laughed slightly, " I hope the way I treated you today has not meant we will dislike each other, Joseph. I'm just not a particularly warm woman, I want you to know that I'm not cold, just distant." She hadn't meant to say that but again this compelling feeling towards him would not disappear and she indulged it. She blushed quite quickly and realised she had been stupid. She did not know this man and most of all, she didn't want him to know her.

"I hope you and I can find some common ground, Ma'am. The last thing I want is to hate you" he stared at her and wanted her to say something inviting back. Instantaneously, he felt embarrassed by his utter attraction to a goal so unattainable. He certainly didn't want to hate her, he wanted to kiss her and that mad impulse threatened to take over his being. Yet, he willed that back down and looked her steadily in the eye, awaiting her response.

" I feel the exact same way."

Please R&R.

Yours,

M

Xx

_I want to explain why they were very 'out of character' in the last chap. I just felt this compelling urge to show a darker side to Joseph, a side that many people tend to avoid. One where he gets just as jealous and childish. It had no real reasoning behind it, but I hope this chapter shows the more deeper dynamics of their relationship and how Queen Clarisse wasn't easy for him to get to know. Lyrics from 'Bittersweet' by Apcalyptica._


	8. Chapter 8

So I went to see 'Carousel' at the wekend, it rocked and one of my very good friend played Julie Jordan, it was exceptional. Chapter is inspired by the way they dance around eachother in the musical, without the frills of 'Clambake' and 'June is Bustin'...this is substantially darker. Nothing belongs to me.

If I loved you,

Time and again I would try to say

All I'd want you to know.

If I loved you,

Words wouldn't come in an easy way

Round in circles I'd go!

Longin' to tell you,

But afraid and shy,

I'd let my golden chances pass me by!

Soon you'd leave me,

Off you would go in the mist of day,

Never, never to know how I loved you

If I loved you.

He had been at the palace for something over 4 years now and life was no more happier than it had been on the outside, in the army. He couldn't settle, he couldn't bring himself to enjoy the company of anyone in the place. He had as always, magaed to accquire the reputation of a player, a womaniser, a man who enjoyed fast cars and fine wines. Yet, really, truthfullly that wasn't him. The real him was in turmoil and that was where the problem really lay. He walked slowly, pondering this in his head, underneath the blistering sun. The smell of the roses in the garden was utterly overpowering in the unblearable heat. She wandered in front of him, idly fingering roses and bushes as she walked, examining them with her delicately manicured hands. Those hands, so fine - perfecting what was beauty in his eyes.

" I wish you would leave me" she sighed with intense exaperation and turned to him, "Must you follow me everywhere?"

"Yes".

These arguaments were becoming tiresome - and they argued like this at least once a day.

"I will tell my husband, when he returns that I do not want you following me anymore..."

"What a stupid threat -" he bit his tounge as she turned wildly on her heels, her eyes aflame with anger. Now that had been stupid, saying something like that to her.

"You know I can do it" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Ah, but you wont," he whispered cruelly. Her eyes flickered, faltered with recognition and then fired up again. She made to open her mouth but didn't say a word, becuase she didn't know how to repond to that.

"Don't kid yourself, Your Majesty" he said quietly, " You wouldn't, and you know that."

"How dare you presume to tell me what I shall do!"

"I know you, Clarisse" he glared, "And that frightens you. Someone knowing you and following you" he ran a hand up her arm, "That petrifies you."

"Do not touch me" she hissed again, her eyes gleaming with tears, her body convulsing from the altoghether too intimate contact which threatened to betray what she felt for him, "I'll have you hanged."

"You wouldn't dare." And with that he was gone, storming off down the path. She felt as if her legs would go from underneath her as she watched him turn into the sun.

He couldn't believe he'd treated her like that, he couldn't beleive he'd touched her like that and dared so much to be near her, to drive her over the edge. She was gorgeous, sexy, stunning and nasty. Threatening to send him away like that but knowing she never would. He sighed slightly, and put the wine glass down on the bar. 4 years. They had not been particuarly kind to eachother. Her two small children, her job and all on top left her permenantly stressed and yet he felt sorry for her, because she was desperate - that lingered in her eyes.

"You look troubled" the bar man, a greasy looking man of about forty, wiped the rim of a pint glass witht he dirty corner of his apron.

"My countenance is none of your buisness," Joseph answered shortly, taking a sip of the wine.

"Only trying to be friendly," the barman grunted, slinking dejectedly to annoy someother disgrunteled character.

"That wasn't very friendly."

"No" he turned round to answer whoever had spoken. She was good looking, with strong brown eyes and dark hair. Something to drown his sorrows in perhaps?

"Julie" she held out her hand, to offer a hand shake but being so accustomed, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. It felt nothing like Her Majesty's. Nothing like Clairsse.

"Joe".

"Well" she smiled as she slipped onto the stool next to him, "You must be quite the gentleman, I've never had my hand kissed before. Maybe the first impression I had of you was wrong, you seem ok."

"I am" he laughed charmingly, "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, I would", she smiled again, and removed her coat. She was gorgeous, a slinkly black dress, a curvy figure. He licked his lips, devouring the sight of her purely physical beauty.

"So, what brought you here?" she gestured round the smoke filled, noisy, gritty bar, "You look too refined for this."

"I'm at home in this," he answered, " Noise,music...intimate contact." He stood up, and pressed himself against her shoulder, "Care to dance?"

He pressed Julie hard against the wall an hour later, under the buzzingly dim street lamp, his mouth crashing onto hers, his hands under her dress. She was just as rough back, demanding the kisses he gave quite willfully. He had had one glass of wine in the end, and yet he still felt exceptionally giddy. If he closed his eyes tight enough and imagined hard enough, he could pretend it wasn't this girl he'd met in a bar, seduced in an alley - he could pretend it was Clarisse. Suddenly he realised that he couldn't do this anymore, that he was using this girl and in an oddly stupid way, he felt as if he were betraying her. He pulled back, breathing hard and stared into her face.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he breathed, "I shouldn't..."

"Don't stop," she smiled slightly, fiddling with his shirt.

"I can't," he pulled away, zipping up his trousers, "I'm sorry...I can't."

She smiled knowingly, and then pulled her dress down over her hips in the darkness of the alley, " Did you suddenly remeber you had a wfie?"

"I don't have a wife," he answered quickly, " I wouldn't do that..."

"No, sure," she smiled at him awkwardly, "Well, it was nice while it lasted..."

"Yeah. I've got to go. Can I get you a cab?"

"No, I'll walk."

He walked away then, which was not typically gallant or gentelmanly but he couldn't stay there and watch her, or stay and feel the guilt, unheeded, coursing through his veins.

He was soon at the palace and running up the stairs, heading in the direction of her bedroom. He didn't know what he was going to do when he got there but he needed to see her, he needed to feel her near him. Her door was open, as it always was and he barged in, determined and being insanely wreckless.

She spun quickly on her heels, gathering the loose folds of her silk nightcoat over her flimsy nightdress to hide herself from her unwanted intrudor.

"What on earth...", she stumbled over her words when she realised who it was. Joseph. Damn him for making her like this, for feeding all her fantasies and lust for him in just one smouldering glance. But she would not allow it - no matter how much she wanted him.

"I'm giving you a reason to get rid of me," he panted, slamming the door behind him but something in his eyes told her he had no intention of leaving and it just served to make her twinge with excitement, "I've barged into your chamber..."

"I don't want to get rid of you," she stared into his eyes, "I won't..."

"I know."

Suddenly she was against the wall, his hands pinning her wrist against it, his mouth crushing onto hers. Everything inside her was teling her to stop but yet, she was boneless and wordless and unable to protest as he kissed her wildly, almost painfully. His grip crushed her bones cruelly against her, as one hand graciously and swiftly undone the knot on her robe.

"Do you want this?" he breathed desperately in her ear, continuing his assault on her neck.

"Yes". That answer, however true with reasoning and honesty did not come from her throat, it was not her voice but she let it answer for her anyhow.

Sorry it took so long, I've had exams. Lyrics belong to the insanely talented Rogers and Hammerstein.


End file.
